Can you not see?
How the eye of Providence; took;
taking the knee,
from, a; symbol against racial oppression,
and, turned it, into; a token gesture, of; clichéd ubiquity?
Sensing, that; triviality breeds contempt.

Can you not hear?
Those talking heads; happily regurgitating;
the party line; year, after year, after year.
And, no matter, the party bag, of; manifestos,
debates, campaigns, pledges, and, “fresh ideas”,
your suffrage, still, just, became; party games, of; pass-the-parcel, and, musical chairs.

Can you not smell?
that manure, from; elected bulls, and, horses,
that; democratic excrement, upheld,
spread by empty hearts, and, heads,
sheafed; by empty hands, unto; empty mouths, fed on; empty rhetoric; impelled,
combined, and, harvested, in fields of constituent disappointment.

Can you not feel?
a world, of; incarcerated prisoners;
suffering, spiralling; their spirits squeal,
their jail, is; bipolar, under; stars, and, sun, and, howling moon,
a populi, shackled, to; terrafirma’s wheel,
unspoken; their grief, is, always; roundabout.

Can you not taste?
the air, of; uncompassionate attitudes,
the sea of hypocritical platitudes; disgraced,
their inability to empathise, or, attempt –
to wear, the shoe, of, those; souls unsaved,
an acerbic, acrid, acetic land awaits.

The false prophet,
reveals; the aromatic secrets, you long to hear; as, long, as; they occur, after…
nosing – your terminal diagnoses.

The mediocre medium,
always has, a; cup half-full approach, snooting distastefully, when it comes to, client’s custom, for: spirits, sessions, seances, and, simony.

The blinkered seer,
scorns; all other, visionaries, and, spits out; spiteful premonitions, whilst, feeling; unhappily-everafter.

And, all three zealots, in hindsight; look back, universally, due to, forever, being; seen, as the epitome, of; irony.